


toy soldiers

by PsychicBananaSplit



Series: dreary and cloudy days [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Burns, Canonical Character Death, Comfort, Cutting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicBananaSplit/pseuds/PsychicBananaSplit
Summary: ben is sick and tired of being one of their dad's toy soldiers to be played with once in a while. he's sick and tired of them churning, twisting in his stomach, always reminding him that he is not, in fact human. or, human-like.he's happy that klaus could make it past seventeen years of life. that's too young to die.





	1. circular scars on his hip

**Author's Note:**

> yikes. i was gone for a while, and after the thousands of songs in my playlist, a few good ideas, a huge writer's block in the road and a three day weekend, it's done. i promise you, this will have a happy ending. i hope.

Klaus just took a shower. The air around him was heavy with the remaining steam and the god awful stench of that flowery shampoo that Ben actually didn't mind smelling again. Dog tags jingled on his neck as he pulled a random shirt from the floor on. He never took them off, in fact.

Ben was quietly reading a book in the corner of the room, by the window, and where the light was best. Dog tags stopped jingling, and Ben could feel Klaus’ eyes scrutinizing him almost as heavily as the air around them. Ben traced the circular scars on his hip.

“How did you die?”

There it was. The ever so dreaded question that Ben would forever regret to answer, if he decided to do it truthfully. He visibly deflated and paled, which Klaus didn’t think was possible. 

“There are no scars, no marks, no spilled guts and blood. When I saw you….” he trailed off.  _ The unspeakable, unmentionable day.  _ “There isn’t anything to prove that you died  _ that way. _ ” 

~~~

_ Luther and Diego were running out of the explosive library, that would’ve killed the people inside if they hadn’t responded in time. The catch was; Ben wasn’t with them. Luther was almost dragging Diego by his shoulder, and Diego was struggling to get him to let go. Both of their domino masks have fallen off. _

_ “Where’s Ben?” Klaus continued to stare at the door. Ben still wasn’t out of the library. Twenty seconds passed.  _

_“We had to leave him, Klaus.”_ _  
_ _What? “What the fuck, Luther?!” Number One was harshly gripping him by his wrist, surely leaving bruises. “No! Let me go, Luther! Let. Me. Go!”_

_ Diego wasn’t trying to hurt Luther, he swears it. But he couldn’t help but whip out a knife when One’s fist came hurling in his direction (albeit, an accident). A sickening, wet crunch signaled the knife had gone straight through his wrist, Luther's sharp gasp following. The sudden shock forced him to lessen his grasp on Klaus, who wriggled out of his arms and started to sprint towards the ticking time-bomb of a building. _

_ Just when it exploded.  _

_ A large blast of noise, brightness, and parts of brick met him, not even halfway there. He immediately squeezed his eyes shut and crouched to the ground, covering his ears and the top of his head. He was yelling. Whether it had been Ben’s name, curses, or wordless screaming, he couldn’t hear it over the ringing of his ears.  _

_ ~~~ _

Ben looked at him with a blank stare. He pointedly stuck a bookmark between the pages he was reading and put the book on the side table, straightening his posture. “You already know how I died.” Truthfully, he  _ himself  _ doesn’t know how he died. He knows that he made a request to Father, and he probably gave him what he requested. Which would have ended in his impending, anticipated death. 

~~~

_ “Dad?” A seventeen year old Asian boy peered from the doorway into his father’s study. The father, Reginald Hargreeves, whipped his head upwards to look at the teen.  _

_ “What is of importance, Number Six?” Number Six, or Ben, quietly tip-toed into the room, shutting the door with a click. “Especially at this time of night. You are past curfew.” _

_ The young man cautiously stepped up to his desk, hands clasped behind his back and his head up high, chest puffed out to the imposing Hargreeves.  _

_ “I have deducted a cure to my, seizures, sir.”  _

_ Reginald’s interest was caught. “And what might that be, Number Six?” Brief, strict, to the point.  _

_ Ben hesitated. He knew that  _ **_They_ ** _ would take control soon. He could feel it. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Soon. If he made this decision, there would be no going back.  _

_But, he ended up where he was for a reason. He traced the circular scars on his hip._ _  
_ _“Um, when I have the seizures, someone has to, kind of. Like. Physically harm me, in a way. Like,” Ben stuttered out. “Punching me in the face. Or, like, stabbing me.”_

_ There. It was done. He knew that Dad wouldn’t question how he found that out, he knew that after the announcement that he would be waved off and dismissed, sent to bed without a goodnight, unlike father’s do. He knew that, if the situation called for it, like if he had gotten punched in the face or stabbed somewhere that was fatal, if he went unconscious against his own will, then. Well. Since he is the “gatekeeper” of the things inside him, he would be useless to  _ **_Them_ ** _.  _

_ He would be eaten from the inside out.  _

_ ~~~ _

“Yeah, you died in the most horrible way possible. I just don’t know who-or what- would be able to do that much  _ damage.”  _ The haunted look in Klaus’ eyes was unmistakable, familiar, but also expected. He saw what someone would never,  _ ever,  _ not in a million  _ years,  _ want to see. The first person that he loved, the first person that was ever in an intimate relationship with-something, in hindsight, that should have been disgusting, the were  _ brothers, for Christ's sake-  _ was not only dead, but his remains were strewn  _ all over the place.  _ He gagged just by thinking about it for too long. 

The worst part about it? There wasn’t a body to bury at his funeral. Should he even call it a funeral? It was, literally, just five minutes of Allison, Diego, Pogo, Mom, and himself paying their respects to their lost sibling, lost son. Then they went to train like always, in the yard, with Ben’s statue looming over them chillingly, tears still drying on their faces with more to come. Come to think of it, it might’ve been  _ less  _ than five minutes. 

What confused him the most was the quote on Ben’s memorial.  _ “May the darkness within you find peace in the light.”  _ It made Ben’s death sound like it was intended, like a  _ suicide.  _

~~~

_ Sir Reginald Hargreeves was no idiot, by any means. He had been studying Number Six’s behavior for many years, his entire life. He also knows that Number Six was a danger, a hazard, not only to himself, but to the entire world. So, naturally, for the better of the world, he decided to play Six’s game in being oblivious to his obviously planned suicide, and told Number One that if Number Six ever had a so called “seizure” on a mission, that he would be sure to do exactly what Number Six had told him to do; to punch him, or to stab him.  _

_ Sir Reginald Hargreeves was no idiot, and that is why he knew about Number Six’s affections for Number Four rather quickly. It’s not as if they made it painfully obvious, but he decided not to prevent it from happening. The “subtle” touching at the dinner table. The creaking of the stairs or wooden floors when they would sneak out together, or creep into each other’s rooms and confess to feelings, actions, events in there lives that they never even dare tell the others. He couldn’t blame them; they were seven teenagers locked up in a stuffy house with nobody else but themselves.  _

_ He couldn’t blame them, they were in love. _

_ Ironically enough, he saw a lot of himself in these children, though none were his, though he would never admit this to anyone.  _

_ Sir Reginald Hargreeves was no idiot. That is why he sedated Numbers Four and Seven with drugs from an early age, to tone down their powers, to prevent The Apocalypse. That is why he allowed Number Six to tell him the lie that was intended, and succeeded, in killing him. _

_ He really did love them. In his own way. _

_ ~~~ _

“Did you really,” Klaus cut himself off. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t get it past his choked throat, his chapped lips. Luckily, Ben understood what he was trying to say.

The quiet voice from the corner started, “Klaus, please, don’t b-”

“Was I really that unbearable to you?”

Ben’s sharp, dark, unyielding stare snapped up to meet Klaus’ gleaming green gaze. “No. Klaus, never, of course not. Why would you ever think that?” His eyebrows furrowed, and Klaus’ tears thickened, some dripping out onto his rough porcelain skin.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he wiped them away furiously. “Maybe you got tired of a person that’s so much of a _junkie_ that he can’t even remember his own name sometimes. Or, he can’t remember the moments we had together. Or, maybe, that he tried to forget you because it was _too goddamn painful to remember-_ ” his voice cracked and he fell silent. Quiet tears cascading down his face in a waterfall of unlocked emotion that he hadn’t confessed to until today. He never knew just how much he depended on Ben, how much he had talked to him about, until he was _dead,_ and _gone._ No, not really gone, but still _gone._

They were both still. Ben, in his chair, breathing shallowly in and out of his nose.  _ In, out. Breathing.  _ Like normal people do. Living, breathing, heart-beating Ben. Almost, but  _ not.  _ It wasn’t the same as when they were kids, touch-starved kids that wanted someone, anyone, to love them. That doesn’t make it any less real. Or, was it real? He was beginning to doubt it. 

Klaus figured, that if their relationship wasn’t real before, it could be real now. 

Ben kept his eyes locked with Klaus’. “Klaus, I don’t blame you for anything that happened. And, believe me, there were too many reasons for what I did. You,  _ especially  _ you, were not any of those reasons.”

~~~

_ When they trained, Ben paid careful mind to covering the damage he did to his legs the night before. Klaus, once again, fell asleep with a lit joint in his hand. But instead of putting it out this time, Ben was curious on how much it would hurt. _

_ Turns out, a lot. There were now dime to quarter sized welts dotted along his thighs like stars about to burn out, about to explode. Some of them bled, and he had to get a wet rag from the bathroom to prevent any blood being found by Mom, who was programmed to tell Dad if anything was out of the ordinary.  _

_ Hurting himself was a release. An unhealthy one, sure. But, look at Klaus; he does so many drugs at once that he either overdoses or forgets everything that happened in the previous week. It got to a point wear Klaus would barely remember Ben was right beside him, during some days. He was delirious, sleep-deprived, a zombie. Ben would be lying if he said it hurt him, more than any cut, burn, snap of the rubber band around his wrist ever did.   _

_ Hurting himself was, literally, the one and only thing that he never told Klaus. He tells Klaus everything, because Klaus tells him everything. But, he never had the courage to face his fucking brother, boyfriend, whatever. It never really mattered anyway. It was something about him, not unlike  _ **_Them,_ ** _ something that no-one wanted, needed, or asked to see. Something that he didn’t want to see, even.  _

_ Just as Klaus uses weed to get high, Ben uses pain. He traced the fresh circular scars on his hip. _

_ ~~~ _

“Why won’t you tell me, then?” Klaus hiccuped, his hands were crossed, but his chest was quivering in a desperate attempt of holding his sobs back where they belong, in his chest, curled up in his stomach, holed into the box of his heart, anywhere but out in the open, seen. 

Ben wanted to walk over, to touch him, to _hold_ him, but he knew that it would be in vain. Klaus would just shove him out of the way, demanding an explanation as to why, _why the fuck did you do that to yourself? I love you, Ben! And that never changed!_ Or, once he was done telling Klaus what had happened, _actually_ happen, he would march straight downstairs and confront Luther, or Diego, or try to see Dad, and resurface old, long forgotten memories that none of them wanted, needed, or asked to see. He didn’t want to explain it to Five, or to Allison, or to Vanya, because Klaus would be way too vague, and everything that would be said, he would have to elaborate on.   
“I,” Ben paused. Suddenly, he was seventeen, and lying to Dad, lying to him, getting him to kill the _Horror,_ the _creature_ that no-one would ever love, the _Thing,_ with a capital T, that wanted to die. To get some sort of peace back where it once was. 

“I… can’t tell you, Klaus. I’m sorry, I just, can’t.”

He really, really wanted to dump all of his feelings, right on the open table. He really did. He wanted to say that he was disgusted with himself, that he never wanted to have this  _ Thing  _ inside of him. He never wanted to wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, trying to get  **Their** voices out of his head. He never wanted the writhing, wriggling, wound up  _ mess  _ inside of him, churning, twisting at even the smell of  _ blood.  _ Oh, god, he was going to be sick. 

He traced the circular scars on his hip.

 


	2. unanswered thoughts spinning around his head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> both klaus and ben brood in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this one took way too long to make. i've been busy with homework, and writing two other series' that i plan on releasing sometime later this or next week. don't worry, both are related to "the umbrella academy".  
> also, throughout these last chaps, i've been listening to a lot of dark and depressing classical music, as well as an unhealthy amount of radiohead.

The tension was another layer at the already tense dinner table. There was only enough room at the table for eight people, so the older siblings and Dad sat at the dining room table while the younger versions stuck in the kitchen. They were probably enjoying the expensive steak much better than the older ones were. 

Allison couldn’t be more grateful that they didn’t have to sit in their designated spots at the table, that would have had her near Dad and Luther. She’d rather sit in the back, with Vanya and Ben and Klaus, anyone but Dad and Luther. They all hated him, except Luther (it seems that they reconciled shortly after their arrival). Diego tolerated him, for now at least. Which is why she was surprised to find Ben sitting farther up the table than usual, and far away from Klaus. Well, as far as one could get with a twenty-five foot slap of wood between them. 

And, thus, the extra present tension in the room was almost suffocating. Klaus and Ben were stiff as rods, poking at their food until it went cold and dismissed themselves with only a few sips of water. 

It was odd that Klaus had no appetite. Now that he is actually trying to get over his addiction, he saw how unsafe, unhealthy his life was. So, instead of only living on black coffees, cheap liquor and nicotine gum (he lost his license years ago), he started to eat  _ actual  _ _ breakfast TM!  _

On the other side, Ben never really recovered his ability to eat ever since he found out that he could be solid on his own account, not just with Klaus’ powers. He tried to drink a milkshake on his first day of being corporeal, but he immediately gagged and threw up all over the couch. It was too much flavor, apparently. Then again, he doesn’t really  _ need  _ to eat, he is still… dead. Kind of. Klaus probably understood it just as much as everyone else. 

After she dismissed herself from the table, she decided to confront Klaus. Something was up. Five seemed to have noticed too, not wanting to break the silence with a cynical remark, and instead glancing with limited curiosity, confusion and concern at Allison.

~~~

It was windy today. The streams of air were so forceful that it almost blew Klaus right off his feet when he stepped onto the roof. 

_ Maybe it’ll just blow me off. Have an excuse for dying.  _ He figured, even then, people wouldn’t have expected that he threw himself off the roof, rather, than he tripped and fell off of it.  _ Stupid, Klaus. Can’t even kill himself right.  _

He was feeling really sober lately. Too sober. Too many ghosts. People with missing eyes, limbs, faces. Guts hanging out of their stomach. It took all he had to make sure he didn’t throw up at the sight of them. 

He remembered the first night in the crypt. He was nine at the time, innocent and naive to the world around him, only aware that he could see things that other’s couldn’t. Only aware of the fact that he was Ben’s friend, and Ben was his. 

There was a woman, in the crypt. He remembered her in explicit detail: dark, ratty hair; dark green voids of her eyes. Dressed in a ripped and dirty skirt, the black shirt barely hanging by her shoulders. She would claw at her eyes, at the walls, rocking back and forth in the opposite corner that he was doing the same in and stare at him. Stare with her empty green eyes. Mumble, whisper, sing words in his ear that he didn’t fully understand. German, maybe? Once or twice she would try to touch him, hug him, brush his hair out of his eyes or comfortingly rub her hands against his arm, to no avail. All he would do was shrink away. He wishes he didn’t.

But now he’s a junkie, sitting on a roof who just had a fight with his ghost boyfriend/brother. He’s messed up. They’re messed up. They all are. 

Besides, he made home on the stiff, cold material of the roof. He wished he didn’t, there are so many other places in the building to go, and it’s not like they would go after him. By habit, he searched in his pockets for some spare cigarettes before remembering that Ben had thrown them all out. He growled in frustration.  _ Ben, Ben, Ben.  _ He couldn’t do anything without thinking about him. Doing the laundry? Oh, yeah, Ben asked you to wash his jacket for him, Klaus. Picking up pizza? Oh, Ben likes peppers on his. It’s always been that way, but Klaus never really paid any mind to it until now, when their relationship is almost all out in the open to everyone in the house. 

He turned around when he heard the padding of footsteps behind him, and, of course, Allison was standing there with her notepad (Klaus is trying, he really is, to learn sign language) that read  _ WHAT’S WRONG?  _ in her all-caps, bold handwriting. 

Klaus sighed, and turned back around to look over the dreary landscape before him. It was close to the end of November, so snow was crowding on the curbs and veering brick corners of buildings, forgotten. He never liked the snow. It turns into brown-gray sludge and ice on the roads. Sad, really. “Nothing’s wrong, Allie. Just leave me alone.” 

He could sense Allison’s brown eyes boring into the back of his head like a fire poker gradually burning it’s way into his spine. Instead of heeding his instructions, she knelt on the ground and sat cross-legged on the roof with him, waiting for a moment before writing something else. 

NO. Klaus almost laughed. 


“No? Well, I mean, you came up here. I guess you asked for total silence and disappointment, then,” he resumed to brood in silence.

~~~

Ben hadn’t eaten anything either, and walked off to the attic. Back in a time that she probably forgot, Allison would meet up with him and Klaus in the middle of the night-before she spent more time with Luther, anyway- and talk about all their mutual issues with their Dad. It turned to Ben and Klaus, then just a high, drunk, lonely Klaus with his dead brother that’s always there but never speaks.

Then nobody. 

Little flurries of snow began to flutter down, down, down until the sidewalk. He remembers that none of the siblings never really liked the snow, having to train in it as well as missions being conducted in the freezing weather. Five used to fucking despise it. Sometimes when he teleported the short distanced he was able, the flakes being brought with him would form into one ball of icy hardness. It was basically a brick of ice. And when he would get to his destination, Ben remembers that he and Klaus would always laugh just as hard as when it hit his face. 

He’s trying to read a book.  _ Hamlet _ , William Shakespeare. He had never read it when he was living, and decided to give it a go. But, now, he could barely get through one page. His mind was currently somewhere else. Why did he think it was a good idea to tell Klaus? Or, half tell him. His number one biggest mistake in his entire state of being might just be leaving Klaus on a last note of “I just can’t.” On a sidenote,  _ he  _ didn’t even know why he was the way he was. Not-torn-up, like he was when he died. Did God- yes, with the big G -take pity on him? 

Did he never really die?

Did Luther even remember? Did Diego? Did they ever tell anyone else? Did Dad ever know that it was an intentionally a lie? 

With these unanswered thoughts spinning around his head and an unread book in his hands, he eventually dozed off, then fell in a deeper sleep. The muffled  _ thunk  _ of the book hitting the floor was unheard by sleeping Ben, as well as the slow creaking of the attic door, and Klaus’ sigh of relief. 

  
  



	3. snowy days and sweaters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like a little fluff in my angst, you know what i mean?

_ WHAT’S WRONG?  _ Allison pointedly pushed her notepad to him with the same message, giving a sharp look. Klaus laughed, trying to hide his still dampening eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong, Allison.” The frustratingly weak voice said otherwise. The mute raised her eyebrows incredulously. She scratched on her pad of paper.

_ SOMETHING’S WRONG.  _ She showed the paper, and a look or realization visibly came upon her face, and she continued writing.  _ BEN?  _ Ben didn’t even look at Klaus during lunch, he didn’t even sit near him. It was like he was giving Klaus the cold shoulder, which he never did. He always made sure to give Klaus his undivided attention in anything. 

Klaus offered a weak, wet laugh that was more of a sob than a sound of cynical regret. The prickling at the back of his eyes grew worse, and a few tears streamed down his face. It was frustrating; he wears his heart on his sleeve and he always speaks whatever comes to mind in any moment, no matter how inappropriate, insensitive, or unimportant. And this was one of the many times he didn’t like that he is so free with emotions. And soon his half-assed attempt at a laugh turned into full out crying. 

Allison’s expression changed from harsh disbelief to sympathy, and she dropped the pad of paper to her side to hug Klaus. 

Klaus tightly hugged her back, too-long, raggedly cut nails stabbed into her back as he sobbed his frustration, sorrow, and overall hopelessness onto her back. His chest heaved with the effort of trying to hold them back, to no avail, which made his body collapse in on itself every time he breathed out a cry. If he even was breathing. The nails digging into her back and the wetness slowly growing on the back of her jacket just made her hug tighter against him, squeezing her eyes shut and willing for whatever happened to never happen again to any of her family.

Eventually, the only sounds coming out of him were the spotty hiccups and a low, droning whine emitting from his throat unintentionally. Allison rubbed his back comfortingly.

Klaus took in a shuddering gasp and tore away from Allison’s embrace and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, sighing. Wind whistled on the roof, the gray sky boiing with clouds. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. He refused to meet Allison’s gaze, ducking down and batting off some spare tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said again, fiddling with the seams of his sweater sleeve. He sighed, as if he had made a hard final decision. “I’m sorry,” he hiccuped out again, and Allison took the notepad and started writing.

_ YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE. IT’S OK. I UNDERSTAND.  _ Allison shuffled so she was sitting right beside her brother, letting his shaking frame lean on her. 

They sat like that for a while, listening only to the wind in the trees, around them, blowing fiercely into windows and signs. The snow was coming thinker now, no longer tiny flurries but big white cotton balls of frozen water. It was cold, but both of them had a sweatshirt on. Allison herself never really liked the snow, but she remembers a time when she and Luther would play in it after missions, seemingly not caring about Klaus’ tremors and shakes after one of his private ‘missions’, or the paralyzed Ben coated in blood, who later puked on the sidewalk. Not caring about Diego’s stutter and the fact that Vanya was in the shadows, watching her most of the time in envy, not caring that Five was plotting to time-travel (then end up getting stuck in The Apocalypse). No, she and Luther were far away from the group, not at all treating them like the siblings they were raised as. 

She was a real bitch back then. But, at least she’s trying to make up for it (unlike a certain  _ somebody _ ). 

“I,” Klaus started with a croaky voice. He cleared it and tried again. “I asked Ben how he died,  _ why  _ he died, and, he.. he didn’t tell me. He said that he couldn’t.” Klaus sniffed, then let out a breath of sarcasm. “Stupid thing to cry about, really.”

Allison took him by his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. Her powerful stare was enough to snap him back to pitiful silence. She scribbled a message.  _ IT’S NOT STUPID. YOU TWO ARE REALLY CLOSE.  _

“Apparently not close enough.” Klaus shrugged. “I mean, he didn’t want to tell  _ me  _ for a reason. Probably because I never shut my fucking mouth.” He averted her stinging gaze again to examine the sweater he was wearing. Apparently he picked one of Ben’s by accident. It was black, with white trim, and a white breast pocket over his heart. Most of their clothing was interchangeable, except for formal wear and the jumpsuits for missions. 

“I probably would have went off downstairs and told you all and shit, Ben was right not to tell me anything earlier.” He felt sick, miserable. He felt miserable for Ben. He had pinned him in a corner that he didn’t want to be in and now he was mad at Klaus and now he doesn’t want to tell him anything anymore and  _ oh my god he’s going to go away for good, isn’t he? He’s going to leave me, like everyone else, he’s going to kill himself again because of  _ **_Klaus Hargreeves, his boyfriend that wouldn’t ever listen to him-_ **

His thoughts were spiraling faster into self-hatred nowadays. Someone is always there to shake him out of it. 

Allison noticed Klaus looking away from her, staring at nothing but his eyes growing with more shadows every second. It scared her, more than anything, that his eyes were empty. Not as empty as Vanya’s had been during The Apocalypse, but the facial expression-or lack thereof-was an unsettling look on the normally lively clairvoyant.

Klaus jerked when Allison touched his shoulder. She had written something else on her notepad. 

_ MAYBE YOU SHOULD TALK TO HIM.  _ Truthfully, he thought that would work. He just couldn’t get himself to do it after lunch like he planned.  _ He’s such a coward. Klaus, the Cowardly Lion.  _

_ HERE, I’LL GO WITH YOU.  _ Allison paused for a moment to make sure Klaus saw her capital print, and took his hand to stand up with her. Both of their fingers were numb, about as numb as if they had stuck them in a bucket of ice water for a few minutes. 

When they got inside the blessing of warmth they both went straight to Ben’s room, but the door was open, the curtains were shut, and the desk doesn’t look like it’s been touched in the last few hours following the tense meal. So, up to the attic it was. 

As they were walking up the stairs, Klaus remembers when he and Ben would sneak out in the middle of the night, when neither of them could sleep, and hang out in the attic on rare nights of Reginald falling asleep at his desk instead of his bed, not hearing the stairs whine and creak. Ironically, they would stay up until just before the moment they were supposed to wake and look up at the moon. Making new constellations in the stars and in Klaus’ freckles on his shoulders. 

Allison stood beside him as he opened the door slowly. Inside the attic was the several unused items on shelves and in boxes. Also, the very much sleeping figure of Ben, pillow beneath his head and a book resting on his chest. Klaus let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and shut the door, signing for Allison to be quiet. 

“He’s sleeping,” he whispered. She nodded. 

~~~

At eight, Klaus brought two blankets and two steaming cups-one tea, one hot chocolate-and perched himself on the couch-like windowsill, draping a blanket over Ben and himself and leaving the cups on a forgotten coffee table beside him. The snowing slowed a little, giving a clearer view of the moon, not exploded and not crushing the earth. He snuggled into the dusty, stiff pillows, making a nest for himself as his eyes drooped and he gave into the peaceful abyss of sleep, and instead of being woken up by ghosts tonight, he dreamed of sweaters, snowy sidewalks and a couple pairs of brown eyes.

  
  
  



	4. candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ben and klaus understand each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i recommend listening to "beautiful crime"-tamer, when you're about four of these:  
> ~~~  
> in. trust me, it makes it better.

Dim gray light shone through the window, and Ben roused himself from sleep to see the sleeping form of Klaus. Awake, he was all sharp edges and sarcasm. Pointed remarks to nosy questions and just as pointed glares. Asleep, he was at peace. His eyebrows weren’t furrowed in, creasing his face and making him appear older than he really is. The bags under his eyes are less prominent, less saggy, less a dark blue and more a light lavender. He’s curled up against the glass pane, his knees drawn up to level with the top of his head. Ben took in the relaxing sight of him, admiring him, in a way.

Ben, as quietly as he could, stood up before realizing that he had a blanket over him, fading right through his body and leaving a familiar cold path of, something, through his stomach. Gone-ness, is what he would describe it. He shivered, putting a hand to his abdomen when he became corporeal. 

His knees creaked unpleasantly when he stood up, and before going downstairs for some breakfast, he noticed the cup of tea on the table in front of him. It was cold, but he took it with him to warm it up.

~~~

As soon as Ben had gone, all of the spirits decided to take action. They waltzed out of the shadows, the corners, the desks and the shelves and the walls and started haunting. 

**_Klauuuuuuuuuuusssssssssssss._ **

**_Klaus, help us. Klaus. Klaus._ **

**_Klaus!_ **

Klaus instantly woke up, stumbling off of the couch and scrambled on the floor, to the nearest corner. The blanket followed him. 

“No, no, not today, motherfuckers!” He threw a pillow at a nearby ghost; the same woman that has been following him around for as long as he can remember, the dark, ratty haired one with the torn skirt and shirt. The one with green eyes. She flinched when the pillow soared through her head. 

_ “Klaus, wait-” _

He was already half way down the corridor by the time she tried to talk to him. 

~~~

Klaus was sprinting down the hall so fast that he didn’t see Ben in the middle of it. SLAM, and his body mass crashed into another’s. Klaus went down, scrabbling on the wall for anything to catch himself on, but thunked his head against a set of drawers instead. He heard a muffled “Oof” from Ben, and when they hit the ground there was a very obvious  _ crack,  _ and Ben yelled out.

“Ow,  _ fuck.  _ What the fuck, Klaus, Jesus,” Ben rolled over with a shard of the teacup jutting out of his upper arm. 

“Oh my god, fuck! I’m so sorry, Ben, Christ.” Klaus pulled himself over to Ben and crouched to his left, over the arm that had been stabbed. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

Ben rolled his eyes and shuffled a little, groaning in pain when his arm nudged Klaus’ knees. “You don’t have to be sorry. It was an accident.”

They sat there for a while, because in the last twelve hours they were not in this close of a proximity. They were both anxiously examining each other’s faces for any sign of contempt, to which either found none. After staring at each other for several moments, Ben reached to slide his hand up Klaus’ arm, rubbing his shoulder lovingly.

“Really,” he whispered ever so slightly, “Don’t be sorry.” The look in his eyes told Klaus that he was referring to something else. The clairvoyant sighed wistfully. He bent down and kissed him, slotting their mouths together in a holy matrimony of their shared love that would surely never diminish in any way, despite arguments. 

Their hands were on each other’s jawlines, caressing pale skin and brushing dark hair our of the way. They broke the kiss, staring in one another’s eyes before remembering that Ben had a teacup stuck in his arm. And was bleeding. Everywhere on the floor.

~~~

“Ow, shit, Klaus.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry.”

Ben once again reached towards Klaus’ face and cupped his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry. I told you this.” Klaus ducked his head and smiled sheepishly. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I don’t know, hard? I guess,” Klaus said, trailing off and focusing more on the task at hand. They took the shard of porcelain out and laid it on the sink, the blood smearing on the white surface that Ben was sitting on. They were disinfecting it, the sting of the rubbing alcohol on the injury making Ben wince, and Klaus the same in sympathy. Klaus looked in the mirror behind Ben, the rippling muscles of his shoulder blades reflecting off the spotless glass. He also looked down at the underside of his forearms, seeing littered horizontal scars that he somehow never saw except for this moment, and looks away. Ben picked his head back up and peered at Klaus through his eyelashes when he gets the bandages from under the sink. As Klaus is unwrapping them, he notices Ben staring at him.

“Why’re you looking at me?” He scoffed.

“You’ve grown a second head. Why else would I stare, you little shit? You’re beautiful.”

He blushed at the compliment and pressed gauze to the stab wound, wrapping it in the bandage tightly, and kissing it lightly. 

Ben hopped off the sink and took Klaus’ waist into his arms, pressing their foreheads together. He towered above him by an inch. Klaus hummed, pressed their lips together and sighed into Ben’s lips. 

Just by the look in his eyes, he knew that the gatekeeper was losing track of thought. “Klaus, about,  _ earlier,  _ I,” Klaus silenced him with a finger.

“I overreacted. I shouldn’t have invaded your personal space. I’m sorry. You can tell me when you’re ready, or not at all. I totally understand if you don’t,” Ben’s thick eyebrows twitched.

“I want to tell you, but,” he paused, trying to find a way to word his next sentence. “But I didn’t want you to hurt more than you already are hurting.  _ I  _ should be the one saying sorry, Klaus. I will explain, I promise, just, not right now.” Klaus nodded.

“I completely understand, Ben.” 

~~~

Sure, things weren’t perfect. But they always got better.

~~~

That night they made up for lost time. They were talking, cuddling in their bed. Which turned to kissing, which turned into a heated make-out. They would take breaks between each kiss, looking all over their bodies, drinking the picture perfect angle that Klaus was craning his next, or the golden sheen Ben took from the candle, or the raging storm outside growing worse along with their growing arousal. 

That night, Ben took his clothes off for the first time. The long-sleeved shirt that covered several permanent cuts, bruises, gashes, like a trail up his arm. Again, something that no-one wanted to see, something that no-one would really care about. He looked away from his body when Klaus convinced him to shuck off his pants, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The circular scars on his arms, hips, thighs, low on his ankles, he couldn’t bare to see them. 

Klaus sensed his distress, growing with the storm outside, and did what he thought was best; brought his right-hand wrist up to his mouth, and started kissing down. Every scar, on his arms, hips, thighs, kneeling down on the ground and kissing his ankles. Every kiss blossoms a rose of heat, not sexual, something else. Bringing to live what wasn’t living. His heart beat following every press of skin on skin. Reminding him of his worth every step of the way. Reminding him that Klaus  _ cared.  _ Reminding him of a long forgotten fact; that there are people who  _ love him.  _ Ben was crying by the end of it, weeping tears of regret, happiness, sadness, tears of a person that became complete, even if it wasn’t that easy. His hands were tightly gripping the sheets, twisting. Klaus slid back up to his wet face and kissed him on both cheeks before a soft kiss on his lips.

He knelt back down. Ben was still crying when Klaus took him in his mouth, tears morphing from lost memories in the past to feelings in the present. He gasped through his tears in ecstasy, throat choked up with the flowers planted in his skin. The fiery light bounced off of Klaus’ and Ben’s shuddering frames perfectly, orange lighting up the left side of Klaus’ face and illuminating his meaningful, tearing eyes from between Ben’s legs. He sucked hard, and Ben sobbed as he came deep in Klaus’ throat, cradling Klaus’ face with a warm, calloused hand, and kissed him deeply. They fall to the surface of the bed, fingers found woven into an embrace, flowing through the Klaus’ furry, soft bedspread.

Klaus’ fingers are truly something. They worked him open, stretching him wide, pressing inside him in just the right places. Long, thin, soft, like a pianist’s artistic fingers. Leaving behind a trail of notes, words, paint with him. Travelling the lonely road of creativity, alone together. Deep, like Klaus’ kisses, like Klaus’ eyes. The emerald ocean of his eyes that Ben always drowned in. Drowning, drowning, drowning in tears and drinking Klaus’ perfect image forever and ever. Ben was still crying when Klaus pushed himself inside. Ben clutched Klaus closer, closer. As if he would disappear, turn to dust beneath his fingers and dissipate. He couldn’t possibly put any words in any languages to describe this moment. 

Klaus’ hips rolled like waves on the sea. Golden orange waves, a black foam encircling his head like a halo. An angel from the heavens, come down to him and to praise him with his touch. Making him immortal. An angel isn’t something someone from the outside would describe Klaus as. 

Ben is still crying. Klaus is, too. He gently rolls his hips ever so steadily, adding the slightest pressure to the right spot and making Ben cry out for more, desperation. Klaus’ tears are striking. They shine like golden rain. Riches falling from the sky, an angel, a god, a devil. Klaus is everything and nothing all at once. He can’t take his eyes off of him as he speeds up, but never goes harder. Music is playing in his ears, the rhythm of Klaus’ thrusts being the beat, his heart following suit. Tears are rolling down both of their faces and both of their spines make a beautiful arc against each other’s touch, when they both come, one right after the other,  they kiss all of their moans away. Tasting tears on tainted tilted chins. Stealing them from each other and giving them back, putting them back just where they were before they took them. Their heartbeats are in perfect sync. The flame of the candle flashes from a burnt orange hue to a sharp, icey blue. Klaus’ eyes glow luminescent in the dark with the same shade, and Ben kisses him yet another time. Getting frozen in his eyes. It’s peaceful; cold, but peaceful under the ice. The orange comes back, and he continues to drown in green. 

They stay like that for a while, Klaus on top of Ben, Ben under Klaus, lips parted, gasping in breath. He slips out of Ben’s entrance, and falls on his back next to Ben. Still holding his hand. They squeeze their hands tighter. Never going to let go. Even if Klaus is fading to dust, or if Ben isn’t always there, they’re never going to let go. 

When they gather enough energy, they get under the covers. The thunder has diminished outside, but hasn’t stopped. Klaus buries himself in Ben’s chest, blowing the candle out and letting a soft glow of dark, dark blue to filter through the room. With the minuscule amount of light, they can barely see their faces. Klaus whispers praises into Ben’s chest, tracing the scars on Ben’s arms, the vibrations of his voice resonating throughout his heart. Living, breathing, heart beating Ben. Wonderful, understanding, caring, loving, loving,  _ loving  _ Ben. He starts to cry again. And this time, they are tears of undying, unconditional, unending love for Klaus. 

They both nod off to the sound of the rain pattering on the walls, the windows. Klaus is up a long time after Ben, listening to his breathing pattern. The rise and fall of his chest rocks him to sleep, and they don’t dream. It’s better off that way, perhaps.

~~~

Sure, Klaus still didn’t know how Ben died, sure, Ben is still not ready. There are much better things that can happen in the mean time. 

~~~

  
  
  



End file.
